The Beast
by infinityinanhour
Summary: There is more than one kind of beast. Ralph finally learns this after seven years and a chance meeting with someone he never thought he'd see again. Ralph/Simon Warnings for violence and character death


Sadness ahead. You have been warned.

-

It had been years.

Although he always feigned ignorance when asked, Ralph knew the number. Seven years, three months, and fourteen days. Even when he tried to forget, the number was always there, hiding right behind his eyelids, greeting him every morning with the new count.

It had been more than years. It had been lifetimes.

People often asked him how he coped with the trauma of the plane crash. The _plane crash_. Not the horrors of the island, the murders of his friends, the slow slide into insanity, the beast. Just the _plane crash_. He'd spent a few years frustrating therapists with his vague explanations before realizing it was easier not to try.

Truth was that he didn't think about the island much. It was easier not to and pointless to try. What good could possibly come from reliving it all? Better to move forward and pretend the past didn't exist.

He was definitely moving forward. He'd been directly admitted to the Political Science program at Oxford and was already considered a rising star. He did the right things, said the right words, knew the right people, even played the right sports. In a few years he'd have a diplomatic position to a somewhat powerful country, no problem. He was unstoppable. The past didn't matter and the future was his for the taking. Everything was fine.

Then one day it all fell apart.

He had been walking back to his apartment. The meeting with his professor earlier had gone even better than expected, so he was in a good mood. He was already composing a polite and concise thank you letter in his head when he saw him and the world stopped.

He had gotten taller, almost as tall as Ralph himself. His strawberry blonde hair had grown longer and nearly covered his eyes. He moved with an easy grace he'd never had before. He was also older than the last time Ralph had seen him. Seven years, three months, and fourteen days older.

He whispered his name, and then it turned into a shout.

"Simon!"

Simon started to look up but it was too late and Ralph was already on him, nearly tackling him, babbling and heedless of the coffee he'd just made him spill all over both of them.

It was a while before he was able to get a word in edgewise but when he did, it stopped Ralph cold.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

Reality rushed back in with the force of a giant hand slamming him to the earth. Of course this wasn't Simon. It couldn't be Simon. Simon was dead. But it was him, it had to be! Looking at him closer now, there was no way he was wrong. This was Simon right here standing in front of him.

He took a step back but didn't let go of his arm, as if he might disappear if he didn't hold onto him. "Don't- don't you recognize me? It's me, Ralph. You know, Ralph." He said it again as though repetition might force him to remember.

For a second he thought he saw it, some tiny flash of recognition in his eyes, but then it was gone. "I'm sorry; I don't think I know you. You called me Simon though…"

"Yes, because that's your name!" He said impatiently.

"You're right actually. My name is Simon. I'm really sorry I'm blanking. Where do I know you from?"

"The island! Don't you remember anything? The island and Piggy and Jack and…and…" He slowed down as he saw the incomprehension on Simon's face. He felt shame stir in him. Had he made some terrible mistake and nearly assaulted some stranger who just looked like Simon? He couldn't believe that. This was Simon. Despite the years that had passed he knew his face with the unshakeable certainty of recognizing his reflection.

Simon had worked his arm out of Ralph's grip and was blotting at the coffee stains on his shirt with a pitifully inadequate napkin. Ralph's face went hot with shame. "I'm sorry about your shirt," he said, patting his pockets but finding nothing useful in them, "I'll pay for the dry cleaning. Can I get your number or something so we can meet up later? I'm afraid I don't have any cash on me." He was stalling for time and he knew it. He didn't understand why Simon was here or why he didn't remember, but he needed more time.

Surprisingly, if Simon saw through the plan he didn't show it. He smiled, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. I feel terrible about not remembering you though. Why don't we get some coffee and you can tell me more. Maybe I'll remember if I sleep on it."

A minute later they parted ways with each other's numbers and a plan to meet up the day after tomorrow. Ralph watched him until he was out of sight, wondering aloud just what the hell had happened.

Two days later Ralph was sitting in the coffee shop, tapping his foot nervously. They'd agreed to meet at 11:00. It was 10:43. He'd already been for 13 minutes and bought himself a cup of coffee and a croissant. He also had a custard tart. He didn't particularly like them but he vaguely remembered that Simon did. He'd mentioned it on a particularly long night early on when they were hungry and deciding which food they'd stuff their faces with first as soon as they were rescued. So he bought it too, just in case the other day hadn't been a hallucination.

Only a few minutes had passed when Simon walked in the door. It was hard to say who looked more surprised to see the other. "Oh, hi Ralph, I didn't think you'd already be here…"

"Yeah, uh, I was just in the area so I guess I got here a bit early." He winced at how lame the excuse sounded.

He tried to slow down his racing pulse as Simon went to buy his coffee. It hadn't been a hallucination or a dream. Simon was alive and right here.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he jumped when Simon sat down across from him. "Oh yeah, this is for you." He said, pushing the custard tart over to him.

Simon's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know that these are my favorite?"

He shrugged, trying hard to make it look nonchalant. "I said that I know you. I wasn't lying."

His face fell. "Oh yeah, about that. I'm really sorry but I still don't remember you. You said something about an island…?"

"The island. The one we were stranded on after the plane crash with the other boys. How can you not remember?"

He shook his head. "I've never even been on a plane, much less in a plane crash."

"Oh."

The silence lingered, punctuated only by Ralph's continued reminders of people and things from the island and Simon's insistence that he had no idea about any of it.

As much as he wanted to press the issue, somehow force Simon into remembering, Ralph stopped himself. He wasn't getting anywhere like this. He switched tracks. "So what are you majoring in?"

"Botany with a minor in Dance. You?"

"Wow, so I guess you're a dancer then? That's pretty amazing. I'm in Poly Sci."

"Yeah. And you're pretty amazing too. Are you going to be the president someday?" His mouth quirked upward on one side.

He chuckled. "Maybe. You never know."

"I think I'd vote for you. You'd make a good leader." He saw Ralph's startled look and backtracked. "I mean, not that I really know, it's just something about you strikes me as leadership material, if that makes any sense."

Ralph tried to smile but it was shaky at best. "Thanks. That's not the first time I've heard that."

After that, talking got easier. If he concentrated, he could almost pretend that none of it had happened and they were just two old friends catching up over coffee.

Eventually they ran out of excuses to stay. They'd finished their coffee and a second round of snacks long ago and had far surpassed the accepted length of a coffee meeting. They stood outside the doors, but neither of them made a move to leave.

The moment stretched unbearably long until finally Ralph started to say something. Unfortunately at the same exact time Simon started to say something else and they fell back into an awkward silence until Ralph pressed him to go first.

"It's nothing, just that… I don't know anything about plane crashes or islands or having known you but this was actually pretty fun, hanging out with you. Do you think it would be okay if we just sort of started over from scratch? As friends, that is."

"I think that'd be great. Well, I guess I have to go but just text me whenever you're free and we'll do this again."

"Wait!"

He stopped mid turn. "Yeah?"

"Weren't you going to say something?"

"No it was nothing."

"Alright. Later then."

"Yeah, later."

Over the next few months they met up pretty often. Each time it got a little easier to believe that he was real. He wasn't sure how he felt about starting new Simon and he had to constantly fight down the urge to try to get him to remember but it was good just to see him again, to be near him. It was enough.

They were out late one night. Simon had called him to say that he'd heard about a new comedy club but hadn't wanted to go alone. Now they were walking back to the bus stop, not saying anything and just enjoying the companionable silence.

Ralph watched Simon as he walked. Every step looked graceful and purposeful, so unlike the Simon before. The look on his face was the same though. Simon had this look on his face when he was thinking. It was hard to put into words, his peaceful expression like a deep pool of still water. It reminded him of a painting of a green man he'd once seen. It was more than that though. It was beautiful. It was so perfectly and completely Simon that he could feel something in his chest just snap at the thought that Simon was dead. That he was dead and would never look that way again and it was all his fault.

He wrapped his arms around him, ignoring his surprise. "I'm so sorry Simon I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. If I hadn't- I should have done something but I didn't and I shouldn't have let them hurt you. You were never supposed to get hurt I would have done anything-"

"Ralph, what are you-"

He got cut off half way through by Ralph kissing him.

It surprised them both, actually. He hadn't planned on kissing him, hadn't even thought about it, but right then under the light of the streetlamp without even a passing car to witness them it was perfect.

It was strange, being Simon's boyfriend. They hadn't talked about the circumstances of the first kiss but there was no other word for what they were now. Except maybe lovers but something about that term made his face heat up.

It was strange, but also wonderful.

Or it was, until the nightmares started. He hadn't told Simon about them but every night since the kiss it had been the same. He was 13 again, standing on the moonlight beach with Piggy, watching the other boys chanting and dancing, feeling himself being dragged into it by the force of their savagery. The dance grew more and more frenzied until a boy suddenly shouted that the beast was here. In his dream he knew the beast was Simon but even as he tried to scream for the others to stop he was being pulled by the undertow of their madness, he was-

He was awake, heart pounding, covered in sweat and feeling like he was going to puke. He actually did puke the first time it happened. It had been a long time since he'd last dreamt of the island and the raw horror of the true memories was jarring. Even worse was the nightly reminder of Simon's small, broken body being swept into the sea, so impossible to reconcile with the living, breathing Simon he loved.

He did love him. It was more than just the joy of seeing him alive or the hope of redeeming what he'd allowed to happen. He loved Simon and it only made the nightmares that much more terrifying.

Every night it was the same. Repetition did nothing to dull the horror, only wore him down further and further. He did the only thing he could think to do: he stopped sleeping.

It worked for a while. First his fear kept him awake, then coffee, then pills. Every few hours he took a cold shower.

He didn't notice the change at first. He was so tired, he didn't notice at first that sometimes the trees looked different, like something from a jungle instead of the well-manicured campus. It was days before he realized that he was the only one who heard a young boy laughing cruelly or a conch shell blown in the distance. The sidewalk turned to sand under his feet, making him stumble before it returned to its true form. Day and night ceased to have any true meaning, everything bathed in a perennial twilight.

Then he opened his eyes and everything was gone. He was alone on the beach, the crash of the waves off to his right. He turned and now Piggy was next to him, Jack's feast just ahead.

His blood turned to ice. This time was different. He wasn't dreaming. He could feel that he was awake. He was still in his own body instead of that of his 13 year old self. Piggy didn't seem to notice the difference though as they crept closer, as the dance started.

He tried to run or scream or do anything but he couldn't move of his own volition, could only move along with the dancing and chanting even as the tears streamed down his face.

He choked back a sob as he heard the all too familiar cry of the beast's, of Simon's, arrival. He felt them all rushing forward and now he did scream but it was lost in the war cries and oh god he didn't want this he didn't want-

Everything stopped. It didn't disappear, just froze in midstride like a paused video. This time his sob was of relief. He silently thanked God or whatever it was that had spared him from watching them kill Simon.

"'Watch them kill me'? We both know that isn't what happened."

"Simon!" He turned around and there he was, not the 13 year old one but the real Simon, his Simon. "How did you-? What are you talking about?"

He gave a disappointed sigh. "I guess you're still being stubborn. Just watch."

Time unfroze itself around him; a crowd of beasts who thought they were boys attacking the boy they thought was a beast.

That wasn't the worst though.

It wasn't close to being the worst.

It was him.

He was one of them.

He was the Beast.

He screamed and screamed but couldn't stop his hands from tearing into Simon's neck, from wrenching back his arm as another boy hit him and hit him and his struggles grew fainter and fainter until they were ripping at nothing but a sack of meat that might have once been a boy.

It only ended when a storm exploded overheard and the beasts scattered, leaving only Ralph there on the beach, sobbing, covered in the blood of the only person he had ever truly loved.

He felt Simon's arms wrap around him. He tried to shake him off, push him away, keep at least this one perfect image of Simon from being destroyed by him, but he wouldn't let go. He just held him as slowly the ocean washed the body, the blood on his hands, all of it away.

The last thing he heard before the blackness took him was "I forgive you."

He woke up in a hospital bed. His cheeks were wet. He knew without a doubt that Simon was gone.

A nurse raised an eyebrow. "Finally awake? You had quite an episode. How are you feeling?"

"Better."


End file.
